


The Hollow Ones

by ElleWinter



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: F/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElleWinter/pseuds/ElleWinter
Summary: Years after leaving the school, Kiryuu Touga sees a woman working in a flower shop who piques his interest in spite of his ennui. Something about her is so familiar that he can't stop himself from trying to find out more.This story is a part of theAbsolute Destiny Post-Apocalypse zine.Complete.





	The Hollow Ones

_My ears hear what others cannot hear. Small, faraway things people cannot normally see are visible to me. These senses are the fruits of a lifetime of longing. Longing to be rescued. To be completed._ \-- India Stoker **  
**

Slim, deft fingers. It was those he noticed first as he stood there waiting for her to be finished wrapping his bouquet. Elegant brown hands, unpainted nails, with no sign of calluses or work-roughened skin. The regular woman had calluses, just faint ones, one on the side of the first joint of her right middle finger and the other on the heel of her left palm. This woman’s hands were soft all over, as if she spent a lot of time or money making sure her hands looked as if she’d never worked a day in her life. Touga looked up, mildly curious.

An unexpected wave of deja vu rolled over him, making him catch his breath. Deep purple hair was gathered into a knot at the back of her head. Sea-green eyes, long-lashed and heavy-lidded, not watching him. A faint smile on her beautifully curved lips… one that, despite knowing nothing about her, he could have sworn was fake.

But why would it be? He had no reason to believe it wasn’t genuine. The conviction remained with him, however, unshakable. The feeling of deja vu grew stronger. 

He had an account at the quiet little florist in the bottom of the office building. It made things easier-- he was always buying flowers for someone, for some reason. Often they were for himself. The flowers he took home were always the ones she was wrapping up now, the silvery, red-lipped Osiria roses. He had them ordered in specifically for him. No need to waste them on someone who wouldn't appreciate them. But this girl was new… wasn't she? Certainly his order would have been written down, but she hadn't consulted the proprietor or any list, just immediately gone to wrap up his roses as soon as he entered. He hadn't even spoken to her yet.

May as well make sure those really _were_ his roses. “Excuse me,” he began, walking over to her.

Her hands stilled completely and her eyes shot up to his face as if startled. Almost immediately, her hands started up again and she gave him a bland, polite smile. “Can I help you?” she asked, as neutrally she would to any stranger.

No. Something was off. Something wasn't right here. Intrigued, Touga gave her his most sincerely charming smile. “I believe those are my roses, but… I could swear we’ve met. Haven't we?”

Always just a little too perceptive, a little smarter than anyone had given him credit for. Anthy saw Touga notice her surprise and felt faintly irritated. Not much smarter, but enough to make him annoying. They'd worked together well once, long, long ago, but she didn't want to see him now. He shouldn't have remembered her. “No, I don't believe so, sir,” she said, smiling her blandest, most boring smile. “Are you Mr. Kiryuu?”

She'd half-hoped that he'd recall his father and be put off. He must have been too used to it for that. “I am. Are you certain we've never met?” His slate blue eyes were probing, too interested. She didn't want him to be interested in her. He laughed, a little chuckle that was meant to sound endearingly embarrassed. She knew he felt nothing of the sort. “I'm sorry if I'm too insistent. I just have the strangest feeling that I know you… or maybe I did, once.”

“I don't think so, sir,” Anthy said, still smiling, and taped the bouquet shut. That was what she got for not paying attention.

Before she could punch anything in on the cash register, he stopped her. “I have an account,” he said, and he'd grown up enough that he didn't say it with any particular inflection. Years ago, it would have been bragging.

“Thank you so much for your patronage,” Anthy said, smiling exactly as brightly as a grateful proprietor would to a valued customer. Touga left, but that curious look never left his eyes.

The next week when he came in for his roses, that strange woman wasn't there. Nor the week afterward. He had the oddest feeling that she was avoiding him; there was no reason on earth for her to do so, nothing that he could possibly have done that would put her off… but he'd seen her eyes narrow slightly when he'd asked if he knew her. She hadn't liked that. It wasn't a reaction he was used to receiving. Oh, maybe it had happened once or twice when he was younger, but he never needed to make up for a bad first impression now. He could hardly imagine how to begin.

Normally he would have ignored her and gone on with the rest of his life. She was unimportant, barely on the periphery of his awareness. He should have forgotten about her the moment he'd left the store.

That he hadn't was proof enough for him that he should pursue her further. Whimsy rarely played a part in his decisions. Impulse was something he'd carefully controlled all his life. This… was different, somehow. Was it because of that strange feeling of familiarity, or was it because she had been indifferent to him?

Either way, he found himself sweetly rejecting his current paramour, making sincere-sounding apologies and assuring her that it wasn't her fault and that perhaps someday in the future he would be open to something more, and no he didn't want her waiting for him, and it was all so ridiculously tedious that he had to keep himself from becoming short with her display of emotions. He would definitely stay in touch, definitely not lose her phone number and forget her name the moment she was out of sight.

It was no more than any of them deserved. Their eyes lingered on his expensive suits and his antique car, his impeccable looks and perfect body. He knew very well that he was a status symbol to them, a set of price tags and the expectation of gifts, a promise of sweet words and pleasurable evenings showing off to their friends that yes, they were desired by him. He lived up to it. It was simpler than finding something real.

Breaking up gave him a reason to go to the quiet little florist when he normally wouldn't, and of course, that woman was there. His skin was suddenly at attention, as if her mere presence had him awaiting her touch.

Was that what this uncertainty was, some strange sort of foreplay? Was that how those others felt about him? It was impossible to tell. And he couldn’t let it sway him; despite the twinge of attraction, what he most wanted was to know more. She was a mystery. 

Again, he was here. Anthy damped down her internal frustration. Yes, at Ohtori they had colluded on certain things, worked together for certain ends-- Saionji came to mind, the outburst that she and Touga had driven him to with the illusions, the bloody slash across Touga’s back. Touga had orchestrated that… but he couldn't have done it without Anthy's willingness to play her part. Masking her irritation, Anthy again gave him her blandest smile, standing behind the counter as if the barrier would protect her from him. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?” she asked. Hopefully he would think she had forgotten his name.

He shouldn’t have remembered anything. None of the others had. The only one she hadn’t spoken to was Saionji; his attachment to her had been too strong, and she had worried that it would break his forgetfulness if she approached him at the kendo tournament she’d seen his name listed in. She’d watched him fight from the sidelines, his movements more controlled now, his mastery of the sword evident. Without her to push and sway him, his temper was no doubt easier to master.

Touga hadn’t been there. Perhaps that was another reason Saionji had seemed more at peace. Perhaps that was why he’d won the tournament, grinning widely as a brown haired girl had rushed into his arms at the end. Touga’s absence had made these things possible.

But here he stood, giving her a charmingly embarrassed smile, the tips of his fingers delicately stroking the lip of one of the roses in the vase near him. They were red as blood next to his pale skin. He still kept his fingernails long and perfectly manicured. “I’m afraid I need some cheering up today,” he said, his smile turning a little regretful. “Is there anything you can suggest?”

Anthy had to try very hard not to press her lips together in irritation. That was no more sincere than anything else he did. She knew it because she had been that hollow, once. His question demanded a question in return, an inquiry about the reason for his feelings or an investigation of his preferences. She decided to go with the latter. “Which of the roses makes you happiest?” she asked, not moving from her spot.

A mistake. She’d gone with roses without thinking, and she saw that curiosity flare in his dark blue eyes. There was no reason for him to be curious! He only ever bought roses! “Usually it’s the Osirias, but I know you have to order them in. You don’t happen to have any now, do you?”

“I’m sorry, no,” Anthy said mildly. She knew very well that he always ordered the Osirias. And… to tell the truth, she couldn’t blame him for his admiration. They were uniquely beautiful, the petals luminously white on the outside, red as sin on the inside. “Those are difficult to get without a few days’ notice.”

He shrugged, his smile quirking in a careful construction of understanding. “I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with something else. Could you possibly tell me a little about the other roses? I’m curious.”

There was no way she could remain behind the counter then, not and keep her façade of welcoming customer service intact. “Of course,” she said, coming out from behind the counter, walking the few steps across the room. “Is there any specific color you prefer?” she asked as she came to stand near him-- but not too near-- her spine straight, her posture as remote and perfect as it had been when she had been the Rose Bride. “Orange, perhaps? It is comparatively rare.” She gestured toward an arrangement of orange roses, one that had maroon chrysanthemums scattered among them for contrast. 

She had to admit she’d been thinking of Juri when she’d made it. Their brief encounter at a fashion show a few years ago had left Anthy thoughtful; Juri was as elegant and detached as ever, and there had been no recognition in her eyes when Anthy had complimented her on her wardrobe choices, a closely fitted, dark pinstriped suit with a maroon ruffle spilling out at the throat. Her hair was looser than it had been, falling over her shoulders in graceful ringlets. She’d accepted the compliment graciously and turned to look for someone in the gathering crowd waiting to be let in to take their seats. A smile suddenly lit Juri’s face, and Anthy thought she’d caught a glimpse of maroon hair before Juri strode off, following that glimpse.

“I’m not one for orange,” Touga said, his voice shattering her remembrance. His eyes were on her rather than the flower arrangement, his gaze probing. “I do enjoy rarities, though. I’m glad you noticed. Are there any other uncommon roses you can show me?”

If only he’d stop watching her… but Anthy knew his mind was working, teasing at the edges of the forgetfulness, trying to figure out who she was, what she was. The intense attention was a little unnerving; she had cultivated an air of unimportance and used it well back then. It had obviously lingered, in spite of her efforts to be the person Utena had imagined she could be. 

Even thinking the name hurt. She’d looked so long and found… nothing.

She swallowed, knowing he would notice that she was unsettled but unable to keep it entirely to herself. Her voice was calm and unwavering, however, and her smile as vapid as always when she answered. “If you’ll come over here, we have some blue roses you might like. They were once said to be impossible.”

He somehow ended up standing beside her at the next arrangement, his Italian-cut grey silk suit almost brushing the arm of her dress. His proximity made her even more aware of him, a little shiver wanting to run up her spine. He’d always had that effect, though it had never worked on her before-- possibly becoming less hollow made her more susceptible to physicality. Anthy gestured at the arrangement, blue roses and white lilies spilling from the tilted vase in a cascade of petals. “Something like this, perhaps?”

He reached out to fondle one of the roses, languidly glancing at it as his fingers made contact with the velvety surface, then looking back at her, his eyes intent as his fingers stroked the petal. “Did you make this?” he asked, and while he only sounded curious, there was an undertone in his voice that brought memories rushing to the surface.

Miki. They’d played with him, batted him back and forth between them like two cats toying with the same mouse. Anthy's hints of sexuality, and Touga’s brazen use of it. It had spontaneously appeared, that game between them. They’d never spoken of that secret game, not even to each other.

Miki was none the worse for it, thankfully. Anthy had been to one of his concerts, had the chance to speak to him after his performance. The auditorium had been packed. As Anthy had walked up to the passage backstage at the end, she’d caught sight of a blue haired woman in the front row. Miki himself had been as bashful as ever under the heaping praise, but there was a new strength to him now. Perhaps he’d found his shining thing after all. He’d smiled at her, shook her hand, and accepted her compliments with no recognition at all. Once his attention turned elsewhere, she’d left.

The remembrances rushed through her mind in an instant, but she hesitated too long before she spoke and she saw Touga’s blue eyes flicker as he noted it. “I did, yes,” Anthy said, her voice as mild and placid as always.

“You have a wonderful touch with beautiful things,” Touga said, that undertone in his voice like the purr of some giant, self-satisfied cat. His fingers stroked the petal, his nail lightly scraping the skin of it. “It’s very beautiful… but I think I’d prefer something more genuine.”

Of course he knew that blue roses were dyed. Of course he would know that. And of course he could somehow make it about her rather than the roses. Anthy knew what he was doing… but that didn’t entirely stop it from working. She nodded her head, acknowledging his point, and said, “I may have something in the display cooler.”

Once in the cooler, of course he stood close enough that she could feel the warmth of him contrasting with the frigid air, like standing in the chill air a moment before stepping into a warm bath.

There was a bank of yellow roses overflowing the cooler buckets on the left, an order that was about to be made into centerpieces for a wedding. He chuckled fondly when he saw them, and Anthy knew he was remembering his sister. Nanami had done well for herself, making it to the top of a successful finance company. Anthy had seen her once, coming out of her building into the busy street, surrounded by a cloud of followers that she was barking orders to. Pretending clumsiness, Anthy had bumped into her hard, as if she’d stumbled. Where the old Nanami would have thrown a fit, this one asked, if a bit impatiently, “Are you all right?” Her lackeys fluttered around them, steadying them and offering assistance. Anthy had answered her and they’d both continued on their way.

Behind the exuberant burst of yellow roses, near the back, there was one lone rose that might suit Touga’s overly discriminating taste. Anthy lifted it gently from the cooler bucket, bringing it up for his inspection, the unfurling flower so dark a red that it might have been black.

It was a mistake. She realized it as soon as she’d done it-- she’d lifted the rose up to him, and his eyes had widened, as if with some realization. His hands came up, clasping the stem of the rose, careful not to touch hers. “I’m sorry to bring it up again, but there’s something so familiar about you. Are you sure we’ve never met?”

“Never,” Anthy said, feigning surprise. Of course lifting up a rose to him would tease loose another thread of remembrance. She should have known. Why hadn’t she known? Was that something that came with being human, did losing that hollowness mean she also lost some of her clarity of thought?

“I could swear…” he said, trailing off. His fingers did not touch hers as he lifted the rose from her hands. He hadn’t touched her back then, either. Once she’d been his bride, he’d dropped all pretense of seduction. He’d known he hadn’t needed it, not with her. She was the Rose Bride. But… he’d never used her that way. He hadn’t even touched her unless it was necessary for their deceptions. That felt almost kind.

But then, he knew very well what it was like to be objectified. Against her will, Anthy felt a little swell of kinship with him. 

“Lovely,” he murmured, glancing at the rose and then back to her.

Mustering her professional demeanor, Anthy asked, “Would you like me to make an arrangement for it?”

A lazy grin curved his lips. Anthy could tell it was so practiced that he barely knew he was doing it anymore. “Sometimes I prefer beauty unadorned,” he said.

“At least let me wrap it for you,” Anthy said. As he acquiesced and followed her from the cooler, she couldn’t help but wish that they were on the same level, whether that meant that she was hollow again or whether that meant he had chosen to be human. They might have been able to coexist somehow, in some nebulous way her mind couldn’t define. Maybe it was just that she wanted someone to talk to after all this time.

She’d been wavering, Touga knew it. Those sea-green eyes had changed from blank and impenetrable serenity to alertness, watching him carefully, weighing his actions. It was perhaps the first time she’d really looked at him. But the wavering had come to nothing; when he’d asked about the possibility of knowing her outside of her workplace, perhaps at a little café he enjoyed, she’d gracefully declined. Wishing her a good evening, Touga started for the door, his mind flicking through potential options for changing her answer.

Another customer bustled through the door before he was halfway there, an older woman in a designer dress, a scowl marring her smooth brow. In her arms she held a potted rose bush. It was covered in deep purple blooms, the barest hint of white deep in their hearts. She almost ran into him, ignoring him completely, and she was speaking before she even reached the counter where the intriguing woman stood. “This is _not_ what I wanted. I told you I wanted Midnight Blue _longstems_. This is a _shrub_.”

The woman with the sea-green eyes responded mildly, “Midnight Blues aren’t a longstemmed variety. We told you that when you placed your order, and you said you would take them however you could get them. I’m sorry if we misunderstood you, but there is no way to get Midnight Blue longstems. They don’t exist.”

Revulsion prevented Touga from leaving. Carrying his single dark rose, he stepped back, drifting around to the side of the counter and listening to the exchange while pretending to browse the flower arrangements.

“If you like, we can refund you the cost of the rose bush,” the green-eyed woman said calmly.

“Oh, you’ll do more than that. You’re going to pay for my gas getting here, the half hour I spent talking to you then, and the time I’m spending talking to you now,” the other woman sneered. “Lawyer’s rates. I round up to an hour for consultations. And I’m going to lodge a complaint with whatever governing bodies are concerned with this business, starting with the rental owner here.”

Disgust had been building in Touga’s mind through her entire speech, and it peaked at her last declaration. This was ridiculous. Before the purple-haired woman could answer, he spoke up, striding over to the counter. “I’d also like to file a complaint. Do you mind if I get your name so I can make the process smoother?” he asked, pulling out his phone to take notes.

The customer smirked triumphantly at the woman behind the counter before looking to Touga and giving him her name. “It’s so good to know I’m not the only one this business has taken advantage of,” she added.

“I’m sure it would be,” Touga said, “but I’m asking you to leave the premises, ma’am. I’m the owner of this building, and if you don’t remove yourself immediately, I will file a complaint. With the police, for trespassing.”

The only expression on the woman’s face was shock. Excellent-- he’d caught her completely off-guard. “You can’t do that,” she finally said, visibly starting to gear herself up for another tirade.

“I absolutely can. And I promise you, I can hire an entire team of better lawyers than you.” Replacing his phone in his pocket, he withdrew his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills, handing them to her without looking at them. Hopefully they were ones. “For your trouble,” he said. “Now leave.”

Flabbergasted, the woman reflexively took the bills, then collected herself and left with a huff, the quick taps of her high heels cut off as the door closed behind her. Once she was gone, Touga turned to the woman behind the counter. “It appears that lovely rosebush is back in your inventory. I’d like to buy it from you.” Not that he thought he could keep it alive, but at least he’d be able to enjoy the sweet clove-like scent for a little while, before it died.

When he looked at the green-eyed woman, however, he caught a glimpse of an almost stricken look. Blinking rapidly, she cleared it away as best she could, but Touga could tell her composure was hanging by a thread. “Take it, if you like,” she said. “As thanks.”

He shook his head, opening his wallet again and pulling out one of the large-ish bills. “Don’t be ridiculous. A business needs money to run.” Laying it down on the counter, he picked up the potted rosebush and started for the door.

Just as he touched the handle, he heard her voice, a note of urgency in it that had never been there before. “Wait,” she said. “Please.”

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that stricken look again, as if something had pierced her to the core. And again, she blinked it away, although this time she couldn’t seem to recover the placidity she had worn like armor. Touga turned toward her, waiting for her to speak.

“My name is Anthy,” she said as she came out from behind the counter, walking toward him as if choosing her steps on precarious new ground.

Touga smiled, meeting her halfway. When she looked up at him, that blankness was nowhere to be seen; she was curious, uncertain, and something about her wide eyes and the set of her lips suggested a barely-hidden ache that he couldn’t define. Instead of trying, he said, “The goddess Antheia.”

She smiled, a puff of air that was almost a laugh escaping her, as if the reason for her amusement were a secret she couldn’t voice. “Yes. Possibly. I do love flowers.”

“I don’t know how to take care of this,” Touga said, nodding to the small shrub he was carrying.

“If you like, I’ll teach you,” Anthy said, her smile fading. “But… it’s been a long time.”

Touga nodded. He knew she wasn’t talking about the plant.

And that was how, a few days later, this fascinating, mysterious woman that felt so familiar lay in his bed, draped across him, both of them still breathing hard and utterly satisfied. Even in bed, she had felt so familiar; a gesture or a look would suddenly strike him as something he’d seen before, somewhere he didn’t remember. It was a little dizzying. Outside of the bedroom there had been talk, of course… but there had also been silences, and that was something he’d never had. Those silences were a chance to set aside his endless performance, and something about Anthy made it possible to do so. It was as if she knew him from the inside, knew what lay beneath his performances. Sometimes it seemed she would react to his inner thoughts rather than what he’d done.

It was… comfortable. He should have been incensed that anyone could presume to know him that well… but something in him wanted it. After all these years of playing his role, there was something attractive about being able to set it aside.

Not that he would ever speak to her about it. That was too personal, even for a lover. He was under no illusion that this would last… but for now, the enigmatic silence she brought with her soothed him like cool darkness after an eternity under the glare of a desert sun.

He slid his hand up her back and she shifted gently so that her head was pillowed on his shoulder. She smelled like roses and sex. Familiar. “I still feel like we know each other,” he said.

It took a long time before she answered. “We never will,” she sighed.

Weighing the answer in his mind, he decided it was sound. He had no intention of laying his soul bare for someone else to carve up. There wasn’t enough of it left for that sort of nonsense. “Good,” he said, and continued to stroke her back, his fingers tangling in those glorious purple curls.

It had been so long, so very long since Anthy had left Ohtori. So long to fight for herself with no one there to help her or protect her… was she backsliding? She couldn’t tell. But there was more humanity left in Touga than she had thought, or he wouldn’t have stepped in to get rid of that awful customer. Such a small thing. She dealt with angry people from time to time. Their threats never came to anything. But to have someone look at her situation, decide it was wrong, and immediately attempt to change it without asking for anything in return… it really was such a small thing, but it felt like water for the parched land of her soul. 

It wasn’t something she could give up. If it had been someone else, yes, she would have let them go, deciding they were a good person and admiring that. But Touga wasn’t a good person. She knew that. He’d protected her in spite of what he was… and she couldn’t help remembering the way they had treated each other in Ohtori, the delicate dance around their respective territories and the brief moments of concord between them, cut short as if they had subconsciously known that getting too close would be disastrous.

They could never hurt each other now. Their walls were too thick. And eventually they would tire of each other and drift away, but for now it was good to be held by him and know that something in him thought she was worth protecting even in defiance of his selfish, cold nature. And it was good just to be held by him, although she sometimes recognized a gesture or a look that could only have come from Ohtori. 

His hand slid up her back, nails dragging lightly on her skin, and she felt goosebumps follow it. It had been a long time since she’d slept with anyone, and the break in her celibacy was welcome. She shifted so that more of her body was pressed against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “I still feel like we know each other,” he murmured, his voice a purringly satisfied sound that failed to disguise his questions.

Should she answer those questions? Should she let him know? If any of them could handle it, it would be him. He was already unhappy, she knew, though he didn’t feel it because of his hollowness. It wouldn’t destroy him to find that years of his life were lies the world had told him; he’d had his reality shattered long ago, first by his parents, then by his adoptive parents, then by Akio, then by Utena… one more shattering could hardly do that much damage at this point.

But then she would have to explain herself. If she did that, she would make herself vulnerable to him. That was not an option.

“We never will,” she sighed, a little sad that it could never happen, but mostly relieved. Keeping her silence meant he could never hurt her.

His hand slowed to a halt on her back while he thought, then he said just one word. “Good.” He began to stroke her back again, sweet silence resuming its dominion over the room.

Perhaps this was all she deserved. Perhaps this was all _they_ deserved, this hollowness. But at least if this was hollow, they weren’t alone in it.

_Just as a flower does not choose its color, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free. And to become adult is to become free._ \-- India Stoker 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a part of the [Absolute Destiny Post-Apocalypse zine](https://gumroad.com/l/absolutedestiny/). Check it out for more cool stuff!


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